Four Times Puck Watched Mercedes Dance
by cariluv
Summary: Four times Puck watches Mercedes dance, and the one time he joins her. A response to a glee kink meme prompt over at LJ.


**Four Times Puck Watched Mercedes Dance (And The One Time He Joined Her)**

After receiving a text message, Mr. Schuester left the room, muttering something about Ms. Pillsbury and _point-zero-one-percent_ and Clorox wipes. So he would be awhile.

Mercedes hooked her iPod up to a speaker, and was scrolling through her music. She clicked on one, and soon the sound of:

_Clap, clap, clap, clap your hands. Clap, clap, clap, clap your hands_

_filled the room._

"What _is_ this, Aretha?" Santana asked, with enough amusement in her voice I knew she wasn't just being a bitch.

"This, J. Lo, is proof that you've never been to a black people party," Mercedes responded.

"Um, I'm one-fourth black."

"I'll have you know that one of my two gay dads is African American, and I have never heard this…song. Is this even music? Because the word 'music' implies rhythm and

harmonies and a very talented voice – like my own – to create sound that transcends—"

"Yeah, we got it." Artie cut Rachel off. "It's kind of like 'Step in the Name of Love,' right? And you follow the words of the song to create a dance?"

"Yes! And I can teach it to you guys! C'mon, it'll be fun!" Mercedes was already on her feet.

"I can help," Matt offered. _That_ was a given.

"I know it, too," Brittany said. That was _also_ a given. Brittany may have been dumber than Finn (_dolphins are gay sharks, wtf? Dolphins are just gay, period._), but she could

dance. For real.

Mercedes grinned. "Okay, so you can hold on to an honorary black card for today. C'mon, everyone up! Follow the words."

The song continued:

_To the left. Take it back now, ya'll. _

_One hop this time. Right foot, let's stomp. _

_Left foot, lets stomp. Cha-cha real smooth._

We somehow managed to be dancing in a square, and it was actually fun because the song told us what to do and if we screwed up, it would _still_ look good.

_To the left. Take it back now, ya'll ._

_Five hops this time. Right foot, lets stomp. Left foot, lets stomp… _

_How low can you go? Can you go down low? All the way to the flo'?_

_How low can you go? Can you bring it to the top?_

I ended up behind Mercedes (and then, somehow, in front of her), and watching her "hop five times" and "go down low" was the fucking highlight of my day. I'd never thought of

her as anything other than that black chick from Glee who can _really_ sing. But there I was, watching her tits and ass moving, and realizing that I was a tits and ass man, and

realizing that I wanted into Mercedes' pants so much that the front of my jeans got tighter.

We danced through the song twice. By that time, even Rachel had gotten into it. Mr. Schue returned to find us right in the middle of the Charlie Brown, and joined in. Man, Mr.

Schue tries so hard to be cool sometimes, and usually just looks like a white boy from the 'burbs. This was no exception. But it was fun.

That night, images of Mercedes doing the Cha Cha Slide kept me awake.

* * *

I haven't gone to math class in three years. And that's not just because I've been faking headaches. No, every fucking week Coach Sylvester has a Cheerio assembly. And I get to

see girls in short skirts and tiny tops do handstands and roundoffs and all that crap. It's awesome. And, since the Cha Cha Slide thing, I'd kind of wanted to see more of Mercedes

in motion. Damn, I wish she would wear those Cheerio skirts.

We had an assembly today. First, Sylvester talked about…something. I think it was immigration. I wasn't paying attention, probably because it was completely unrelated to the

Cheerios performance. I know she likes to be a _Colbert_-_Report_-meets-Ann-Coulter knockoff, but _Jesus Christ_ woman. Shut the fuck up sometimes.

The Cheerios danced onto the gym floor to the beginning notes of "Bootylicious." I couldn't see Mercedes anywhere, then I heard her voice…coming from the top of the bleachers.

Yeah, she was channeling Berry there, with the whole misdirection shit.

_Santana, can you handle this?_

_Brittany, can you handle this?_

_Kurt, can you handle this?_

_I don't think they can handle this._

She marched down the bleacher steps, ass and hair swinging. Then she stopped at my row. She grabbed my hand and looked me dead in the eye, singing:

_Read my lips carefully, if you like what you see_

_Move, groove, prove you can hang with me_

_By the looks I got you shook up and scared of me_

_Buckle your seatbelt, it's time for takeoff_

I got hard instantly.

The cheerios did handstands and roundoffs and hair epilepsy, or whatever the fuck Brittany called it, and I watched Mercedes for the entire thing. Oh, her voice was good too.

How the _fuck_ did she not have a boyfriend?

_I don't think you're ready for this jelly_

_I don't think you're ready for this jelly_

_I don't think you're ready for this_

'_Cause my body's too bootylicious for ya babe_

_

* * *

_

"So Ms. Sylvester has a disabled sister?" Mike asked, disbelieving.

"A _mentally-challenged_ sister," Rachel corrected.

"Her sister's name is Jean, and she lives at the nursing home at which we're performing," Mr. Schue said. "The nurses want to entertain the patients."

"The _unwell residents_," Rachel corrected.

"Jean is 68 years old," Mr. Schue continued.

"She is a _geriatric, unwell_ resident, and is _age-challenged_!" Rachel corrected.

Hummel pulled one of his earphones out and turned to face the seat behind his. "Oh my _god_, Rachel, could you _shut up_ and return to humming Streisand?"

"My baby is _kicking_ me to get to you," Quinn grumped. She rubbed her belly protectively, and murmured endearments at it.

Tina giggled and Rachel glared at her. "I'm sorry," Tina said. And she giggled again behind the hand she'd placed over her mouth.

It was kind of amazing that they could hear each other at all, because the bus driver was blasting K101, Dayton's #1 Hip Hop Station playing "Nothin' but the hits. Nothin' but the

hits. Nothin' but the motherfuckin' hits." Actually, they were. Because the Black Eyed Peas' "My Humps" came on next, and…

"This is my _song_!" Tina cried. _What the fuck?_

"Isn't Marilyn Manson more your style?" Matt and Mike high-fived each other.

"Oh, knock it off," she said, and began singing.

_What you gon' do with all that junk? _

_All that junk inside your trunk?_

_I'ma get, get, get, get you drunk _

_Get you love drunk off my hump_

Mr. Schue looked like he wanted to disappear. Instead, he slid further down in his seat and continued talking to Ms. P, McKinley's resident Purell-toting hottie.

Artie was staring at Tina with interest. Probably because she was bouncing with glee. (Oh, and maybe the speed bumps the driver consciously ignored had something to do with

that, too.) Mercedes joined her:

_My hump my hump, my hump my hump my hump _

_My hump my hump, my hump, my lovely little lumps _

_Check it out_

Hell _yes_ I wanted to touch her lovely lady lumps. Although the "lumps" thing was a definite _fail_, Fergie.

All the other girls joined in. Yes, even Rachel, who was actually starting to lighten up. I guess finding your mom will do that for you, even if she _is_ the coach of your competition.

The girls stood up and began dancing in the aisle. Mike and Hummel joined them. Mr. Schue started to yell at them to be safe and sit down, but by then we had arrived at the old

people's home.

"It's a _nursing home_, Puck," Rachel said as we exited the bus. "Honestly, it is as if none of you have any idea what political correctness is, and why it is so relevant to our society,

and how we should be prudent and judicious in our word choice because…"

But I'd tuned her out to stare at Mercedes as she talked with Beyonce about whatever those two talked about.

"Hey, man. Are you…staring at Mercedes?"

I rolled my eyes. Of course Finn picked today to actually pay attention to shit. "No." I shouldered my guitar. "Now let's sing for some old folk."

* * *

"Okay, guys. We're going to try something new," Mr. Schue said. He began handing out sheet music.

"Finally!" Mike exclaimed. "The King of Pop!"

Mercedes cleared her throat and stood. "Let me just say, right from the start, that anyone who makes an MJ joke will have to answer to me. I will _cut_ you. The brotha just died,

give it some time!" She sat down. Hummel patted her back.

"Who's MJ?" Brittany asked.

"Michael fucking Jackson!" Quinn yelled.

We all turned to look at her.

"Sorry, hormones." She bent to speak to her stomach, "And I'm sorry to you too, baby."

Brittany seemed unperturbed. "I _love_ Michael Jackson."

"It is _so_ fortuitous that I wore my glittery gloves today," Rachel said.

"_I'm_ wearing a military-inspired jacket, like the one he wore to the 1984 Grammy Awards," Kurt returned.

"The glove trumps the jacket."

"The _jacket_ trumps the glove."

"Does not."

"Does too."

"Hello? He was called _The Gloved One_!"

"I hate to say this," Santana interrupted, "but she got you there, Tinkerbell."

Kurt pouted. Mercedes patted his hand.

"Guys!" Mr. Schue shouted. "Why don't we get back to the music? Kurt, start us off."

Kurt looked less pissed off, and sang:

_Hey Pretty Baby With The High Heels On_

_You Give Me Fever Like I've Never, Ever Known_

_You're Just A Product Of Loveliness_

_I Like The Groove Of Your Walk, Your Talk, Your Dress_

Of course Mike had already started dancing. Brittany joined him. Mike swung her around a few times. Then Mercedes joined them.

She moved her hips so _crazily hot_ that I actually got pissed as fuck that I hadn't ever noticed how fucking amazing her body was. Yeah, she was fat, plus-size, whatever. But who

says some fat girls aren't hot (and some skinny girls are not)?

Rachel wanted her chance to shine, but Mercedes wanted to sing, so they alternated.

_I Like The Feelin' You're Givin' Me_

_Just Hold Me Baby And I'm In Ecstasy_

_Oh I'll Be Workin' From Nine To Five_

_To Buy You Things To Keep You By My Side_

_I Never Felt So In Love Before_

_Just Promise Baby, You'll Love Me Forevermore_

_I Swear I'm Keepin' You Satisfied_

_'Cause You're The One For Me_

_The Way You Make Me Feel_

we all joined in. We were all on our feet, trying to keep up Mike and Brittany. I danced with Santana, Brittany, Tina. I even gave Wheelchair Kid a high-five. It was a feel-good

song.

Mercedes tossed off her Technicolor zebra hoodie and kept dancing and laughing. And I wanted to join her but I didn't. Hummel was cock blocking, and the only reason I wasn't

pissed was because he's a homo.

Besides, I wasn't sure it was my cock or my heart that was hurting. _And that was the fucking lamest, Lifetime movie-est, Thelma and frickin' Louis-ish line ever._

_

* * *

  
_

I left the bathroom to see…

"Snap!" Mercedes shrugged her hoodie on. "I left my purse in the practice room. I'll go back and get it; go ahead without me."

Kurt smirked. "Your psychedelic leopard-print purse? I'll wait."

"No, I know your dad wants you home early today." She held out her hand for their distinctive handshake — finger snapping, jazz hands, and hair adjusting ensued. _Their whole_

_ friendship: What the fuck? It's like they need an intervention, or something._

"Okay. Call you later, diva!"

"See ya, diva!" Mercedes smiled at her friend, then headed back to the practice room.

It took me two minutes to decide to follow her, mostly because I didn't want to seem like a creep. Then I realized: I wasn't a creep. I was a _beast_. I was Puckzilla, hear me roar —

or whatever dinosaurs did. And I was going to capture my chocolate…. If Mercedes were an animal, which would she be? Probably a vicious ass koala bear.

I peeked in the window of the door to the practice room, only to find that Mercedes was _not_ grabbing her purse. Instead she was, like, _grinding_ the _air_. I could faintly hear "Get

Low" through the door. I pushed it open.

"Do you mind?"

"Can I join you?" I stepped behind her before she could answer, and grabbed her hips with both hands.

She didn't protest, and kept dancing.

_3,6,9 damn she fine_

_hopin she can sock it to me one mo time_

_Get low, Get low_

_Get low, Get low_

_To the window, to the wall_

_To the sweat drop down my balls_

_To all these bitches crawl_

_To all skeet skeet motherfucker, all skeet skeet got dam_

_To all skeet skeet motherfucker, all skeet skeet got dam_

And then she was grinding against me and I was pushing back on her and her ass was so close and her belly was so soft and her hair smelled like…citrus strawberry stuff, and

… we were … _crunk_.

Mercedes turned to face me. "Okay, I'm going to pull a Rachel and say that I wholeheartedly disapprove of referring to women as b*****s, and I am only dancing to this song

because the beat is _seriously_ bumping."

"That is _so_ hot," I blurted out.

"What?"

"You pulling a Rachel. And dancing. And singing. And your body. Damn, your body." I stepped behind her again, and dared to move my hand to her breasts.

She checked me. "Woah, woah, back up. I don't hook up, and I don't put out with just anybody. I need to be in a committed relationship. You DO NOT want to play this sistah."

I knew she would say that. "We're just dancing."

"Then either you tell me you want to be with me, and we can go from there — if I believe you, Puck — or you can keep your hands on the PG parts of my body. _Capiche?" _She

was staring at me with those deep brown eyes.

"How about we dance now, and I think about your offer? Because I am seriously considering it, but I'm a sex shark. If I stop moving, I die!"

She laughed. "Okay. This is a one-time offer. I know you've been staring at me."

"Finn, that _bastard!_"

Mercedes looked confused. "Um, no? I'm just _observant_, Puck."

"Yeah, well…"

"C'mon, the song's almost over." She pulled me back behind her. I wrapped my arms around her and we danced to the end.

_Bend over to the front touch toes _

_back dat ass up and down and get low (get low)_

_Bend over to the front touch toes_

_back dat ass up and down and get low (get low)_

SONG LIST

Cha Cha Slide – DJ Casper

Bootylicious – Destiny's Child

My Humps – Black Eyed Peas

The Way You Make Me Feel – Michael Jackson

Low – Lil' Jon


End file.
